Where Are You My Darling?
by Neo Nobody
Summary: Someone's on a killing spree in Bristol, New York, killing one man a night, leaving one word of a message in their own blood, on their arm, right before killing them. But... who does this UnSub really want to be as their 'darling? Reviews mean Chapters!
1. Prologue: Click

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Criminal Minds or Spencer Reid *sob* or lines taken directly from the show. Wah. Enjoy.**

I smiled.

"Please," the man blubbered.

I smiled down at him again.

My darling…

Tall. Spindly. Long arms. Long, able fingers that danced when he spoke about something he cared about. Deceptively short and dark golden hair tucked behind his ears. Pale, pale skin. A nervous giggle.

A voice that shook when he was scared or uncomfortable.

"Puh- puh- please!" he asked me again, begging on his knees, his hands up. "If you let me go, I _swear_ I won't tell anyone!"

He was shivering.

I lifted the knife in my one hand to his shoulder, and yanked it against his uncovered flesh, causing him to cry out as blood dribbled down his arm. I reached out and wrote one word on his bicep: 'you'.

I leaned down and picked up the gun from the ground as I dropped the knife.

I'll get it later.

"NO please!" he begged again. "I'll do anything for you! Please!"

I stop, fingering the gun in my hand. "You'll never leave me?"

"No, of course not!" he yelled hysterically. "I'll never leave you!"

I fleetingly thought of him.

My darling wouldn't say that.

This man isn't my darling.

I lift the gun to his heart and cock it.

Click.

"You're not my darling."

"What?" he asked me, shivering again.

"Where are you my darling Dr. Reid?" I squeezed my finger.

Bang.


	2. Horrors to Come

Princess: I despise… her. So, one night, I decided to rip her apart.

Pie: *giggle* Hope you enjoy. This story doesn't really… it doesn't follow the timeline of the series. It's probably early season 6 if you want a specific time to work from.

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"Sorry guys," JJ tiredly announced, walking in between our desks, folder in hand, interrupting Morgan explaining in great detail his vacation home in some far-off place to Emily. "We got a bad one."

We all sighed in unison, but got up from our chairs and started trailing behind the new mother.

As we walked into the bullpen and sat down, I noticed Hotch glaring at the disturbing images taped to the wall and Rossi seemed to be texting someone, as his eyes were downcast and calm. We sat down simultaneously, bracing ourselves for the horrors to come. Hotch turned to us and started to explain.

"In Bristol, New York, three days ago, someone has been kidnapping and murdering people, then writing a message in their own blood on them." He explained in a monotone voice.

I quickly glanced at the gruesome photos. There were two male victims, both, with a gunshot through their chest and one word written on each of their bodies.

It spelled out 'Where are'.

"It's not a complete sentence, so that indicates-" I started, before Morgan interrupted.

"At least one more victim." he nodded, his eyes closed.

A sign of complete agreement.

Hotch was glaring again.

I guess he didn't get to see Jack this morning.

"This UnSub has been killing for three days, and there's already two victims. When were they killed?" Emily questioned.

"The first victim, Robert Smith, was murdered on the third of July, and the second, Elijah Daniels, was murdered on the forth." JJ answered.

Emily got this halfway-nervous look on her face and gave her chair a quick half-spin.

"Well that means…"

"Shittastical, I know," Morgan said, knowingly.

"Shittastical?" Rossi wondered, turning towards Morgan with a grin on his face.

Morgan answered with one word, and one word that explained everything. "Garcia,"

"Grab your go-bags, wheels up in fifteen minutes." Hotch advised, brightening a bit as he received a text.

A smile spread across his face. A smile we only get to see when Jack does something adorable.

Which is always. So Jack's aunt must've sent Hotch a picture or video of Jack or something along those lines.

"We'll dive deeper into the case on the flight." Rossi continued, standing up and shoving his phone into his pocket. "See you on the plane," he smirked and walked off to his office.

We all sighed again and went to our desks to grab our bags, getting ready to drive to the plane.

And then fly off to catch a killer.

I felt a sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach for some reason.

An image flashed into my mind, an image I hadn't thought of for years.

…

Lila.

Lila Archer.

I couldn't tell if this was good or bad.

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Pie: Sorry about the short chapter, but I wanted an intro that worked and was short. Chapter three should be longer. ;)


	3. Dark of Night

Princess: Haha, hope this turns out well… Sorry if the characters get a bit too OOC.

Pie: God, I hate Lila. She _made out with my FUTURE HUSBAND! How could she?_

Shadow the Cat: You need to stop being so hateful.

Pie: I'm not hateful. I just hate you.

Shadow the Cat: But you said-

Pie: I don't hate Lila or Princess as much as I hate you.

Shadow the Cat: *huffs* Well then I HATE Y-

Eminem: WATCH YOURSELF, CAT.

Shadow the Cat: *shivers* When did you get here?

Eminem: I arrive here every time someone annoys Pie to the point of her about to murder them. And since this fic is about FBI agents, that probably isn't a very good idea.

Pie: *giggle*

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I squeezed the mug in my hand and sat down, getting ready to look through the file again. I flicked open the folder, and useless words flitted over the page.

My mind accepted the words, locking them into my memory for the rest of my life.

"We'll be landing soon," Hotch announced, glancing up to the cockpit then back to the file in his hands.

The sick feeling hasn't left my stomach for the entire six-hour flight.

After all of our sidenotes and pointing out small details, we have an idea about everything.

"Okay, lemme get this straight," Emily mumbled, her hand flying around a bit. "It's not about release to this killer. He may get one, but it's not what he's looking for, right?"

"Yup," I replied.

"So… _not_ a sexual sadist?"

"Nope," I replied again, not looking up from my folder.

"'Kay, so… he doesn't seem to torture his victims, he just keeps them for a couple hours then shoots them. And somewhere in there he cuts their right shoulder and writes a message in their own blood? And he sticks to a very _specific_ type. And what's the trigger? What's with the messages? One word per body? That doesn't seem like something a man would have patience for, not when he's killing one man a night. Why would somebody do this? It seems like something more… a _woman_ would do."

"_Exactly!" _Rossi exclaimed, "The murderer is a _woman!_ That's what I have been missing!"

'_We'll be landing in the Greater Rochester International Airport in about ten minutes. Please fasten your seatbelts.'_ A crackling voice proclaimed through the plane's speakers.

I quickly checked my belt, just like my mother taught me.

"_Even if you look like a fool Spencer, I don't want to lose my baby boy before I even get gray hair. Make sure you are safe!"_

"Why is the murderer now a woman?" Morgan asked.

I silently noted that Hotch had pulled out his phone and had started texting someone.

"Emily just said that everything this UnSub did wasn't something a man would be likely to do. He would have to have been patient enough to spread the message out over so many victims to get his point across. Wouldn't a man just write everything on one body? Or send a letter to the media or the police? Or just write one or two words that sum everything up? And yet he _waits._ Rather like a _woman._"

"That's all you got?" Morgan questioned, getting a bit frustrated.

"No, but it's all I'd like to share at this point." He smirked, causing Emily to let out a loud 'BURN!'

Morgan grinned, sniggering, and calmed, giving up.

A silence enveloped the group as the plane landed and we exited, being met by the driver.

"SSA (A/N could stand for Super Special Awesome ;D) Aaron Hotcher," Hotch announced to the short man, who was our driver.

"Robbie Bridger," he said back, taking Hotch's hand in his own and pumping it up and down before letting it go.

We squeezed into the rather large… bus-type thing and the man started driving.

After about twenty minutes, Emily spoke up.

"About how far is Rochester from Bristol?"

"Eh…" the man glanced in the rear view mirror, his eyes flitting over all of us. "About forty minutes, so that's like… what? Twenty more minutes?"

"Why did we fly into an airport that was this far away from where we're going?" she complained.

"Hon, that was the closet airport there is, besides Toronto." Emily gaped at the man.

Hell, I did too.

"Closest mall?"

"Victor. 30 minutes."

"Closest grocery store?"

"Canandaigua. 15 to 20 minutes, depending on the traffic."

"Closest movie theatre?"

"Canandaigua. 20 minutes."

"Closest bar? Nightclub?"

"Well, there's Fandango's, which is in Bloomfield, but the place is a dump. It takes about 20 minutes to get there. I'd go more for Eddie O'Brien's, which is in Canandaigua, and it takes about 25, maybe 30 minutes, depending on whether you take 20A to 5, or 20A to North Bloomfield. But a club…" he paused for a second, thinking over his answer. "I think the closest nightclub is on Monroe… Taylor's, I think it's called. Mixed reviews. It takes like… eh… 45, 50 minutes."

We all laughed at Emily's nervous questions.

"Ah, we're here!" he called out after a few more minutes.

We were parked in front of a small building.

Better than most stations I've been to.

We all said goodbye to the driver and strolled inside the building.

Immediately, there was a crowd around us. A man was leading us to a room at the back.

Everyone was talking at once.

"We've never seen this before!"

"Help us!"

"We can't do this!"

"I'm gonna rip this sick bastard's throat out!"

"Larry Ferris! Language! Do I have to call your mother?"

We were pulled back into the room, much like movie stars trying to get away from paparazzi.

"What was that?" Hotch asked, almost spitting.

"I'm sorry," said a man with a handlebar moustache and hair… such strange hair… "I'm Chief Bert Summers (A/N initials: BS). Sorry about that, but the officers here aren't used to having FBI here. Give them a half hour; they'll calm down."

I sniffed the air, wanting to know what I was in for until we found this psycho.

Coffee. Deodorant. Sweat. Cookies. Doughnuts.

Again Lila popped into my head.

"_How'd she get in the house?" _I had asked her sharply. Lila had just shrugged.

"_She has keys,"_ I had never before felt the need to slap a woman.

"Reid?" Morgan asked me again.

"Yes?"

"You have that look on your face."

"What look on my face?" Everyone else was already taping the pictures to the boards, while Morgan looked at me nervously and I remembered.

"That look like you're remembering something you don't want to remember." I scoffed slightly.

"How would you know that?"

"'Cause you kinda look like you're constipated." Morgan laughed in my face and then walked off to help.

"BURN!" Emily called over her shoulder.

But Morgan was right.

Obviously not about the constipated thing, but about the remembering something I didn't really want to remember… thing.

I've tried for almost six years to forget Lila Archer, and all the nights her voice had kept me up. After a year or two, I did forget. After losing Gideon and Elle, I didn't have time to love Lila Archer.

I hadn't thought about her for years. Come to think of it, I've started to shy away from the idea of ever seeing her again only from a few days ago.

I felt as if… she wasn't the same, even though I had never seen her since.

Now everything was stirred up again, everything I'd tried so hard to forget.

Lila Archer wasn't the same. The way her voice jingled and the way she walked, one foot in front of the other, flitted through my head. Now I imagined her hunched over, her trench coat pulled tightly and balled in her hands. I imagined her voice scratchier; less elegant. I imagined her eyes… glazed. Lifeless.

I don't know why.

I have no evidence. Why would I think that? I have no evidence.

"Does the genius get a free ticket to not help?" Rossi asked snidely. Morgan chuckled, spinning around on his heel and grabbing my elbow, dragging me to the table where the files and pictures were.

"Get over here, Pretty Boy." I laughed.

"I'm coming!" I shouted, allowing him to yank me over to the table.

Lila doesn't haunt my dreams anymore.

I'm with my family now, and I'm happy.

They'll chase away the nightmares.

"OH GOD!" the chief cried out, sounding exceedingly annoyed. Hotch turned to him.

"What happened?"

We already know what happened.

"His name was Duke Simon, 26. Murdered last night; shot through the heart at point-blank range."

"Was there a message?"

"Yes. 'You',"

I chimed in then.

"Was there a question mark?"

"No, why?" the chief asked, not really understanding.

"This UnSub would be the type who wants things to be perfect. If she was-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa… 'She'?"

"We'll explain later," Rossi interrupted. He gestured to me to continue.

"As I was saying, if she was just saying 'where are you', she would've added a question mark, because it would be correct grammar, and to a perfectionist, correct grammar is a necessity. But since there was no question mark, that means the message probably isn't complete." The chief scoffed, furrowing his brows.

"Which means more victims."

"Yes."


	4. By Myself

_Because I can't hold on when I'm stretched so thin; I make the right moves but I'm lost within. I put on my daily façade but then I just keep getting hurt again by myself._

_Linkin Park – By Myself lyrics_

That night in the spare room at the Bristol ski hill, known as Bristol Mountain, with the murder victim's pictures as my blanket, I dreamed of them. All the victims I ever saw.

I dreamt they came back for me. I dreamt they grabbed at my ankles, trying desperately to drag me to wherever their souls were. I dreamt they turned into me, pulling myself down into the dark, dark abyss…

"Spence?" I shot out of the couch with a start, only to be met by JJ's welcoming face. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she smiled, tilting her head like an overprotective older sister.

"What's wrong, JJ?" I ask her, rubbing my eyes, trying as hard as I can to wipe away the nightmare of facing… myself.

"You've been different," she announced, the folder in one hand while the other's fingers danced silently to unheard music. "Are you… back on Dilaudid?" she looked nervous, incredibly nervous.

"Wha? No!" I immediately answered, trying to stay in the present, and to _not, _under _any_ circumstances, remember what happened with… Tobias Hankel.

JJ calmed considerably, sighing in relief, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Okay then," she started again, smiling. "What's wrong, for real?"

I got quite uncomfortable then.

"Nothing," JJ scoffed quietly, but let it go.

"Fine," she whispered, giving up. "But we need you at the station; we need your help with delivering the profile."

I nodded silently, getting off the couch and moving over to the mirror to clean myself up.

The one person I was completely afraid of stared me back.

Myself.

I ran my fingers through my unruly, boy-band-ish locks, trying to get them under control.

Just when I thought I had them wrangled in, JJ came up behind me and shoved her fingers through my hair, messing it up again.

"Hey!" I exclaimed.

"You don't know how cute you look with your hair frazzled." I blushed and JJ giggled, walking away towards the awaiting SUV in the front.

I decided to leave it full-force boy-band, not touching the JJ-blessed locks.

I pulled the collar of my shirt, straightening it before my hands dropped to my pants, pulling at the wrinkles.

My mother's voice echoed in my head for the second time in two days:

"_Spencer, put a new shirt on! Everyone will think you spent the night with someone!"_

I chuckled and went to my suitcase, quickly unbuttoning and pulling on a new shirt and Argyle sweater over it. I smoothed my new outfit down against my slender frame, wincing when I hit my bruises from past cases.

I glanced at the clock and… oh fudge… I'm late.

I ran outside to the SUV which was picked up from a dealership earlier, and leaped in the open door, pulling the door closed, sliding in and…

Running into Hotch.

I looked up at his glaring face nervously, and he chuckled, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, giving me an encouraging squeeze. He used his other hand to push me back up so I was sitting up straight again.

"Sorry," I mumbled, inching away from Hotch.

I would have to remember this; Smiling _and Laughing_ Aaron Hotchner.

It's a miracle!

Everyone chuckled, and then went off into our own little bubbles, reading up on the latest victim, Duke Simon.

It wasn't really worth it, because it takes about seven minutes to the station from the ski hill if we take this back road down the other side of the hill. They only got about a page or two into the file before we got there.

I read it all.

Twice.

As we all slid out of the car, we created a picture equal to that of a band of superheroes walking off to the sunset to kill the super villain.

Not that I know much about that type of stuff, like video games or superheroes, I spent most of my time reading biographies and history books, but I know enough to know that we look cool.

Only minutes later, every cop in Bristol was in a bullpen-type room, all waiting for us to explain the ticks of a crazy person.

Medical term?

Psychopath.

"Thank you for coming today," Hotch addressed everyone in a monotone voice, all the chuckling, smiling him from earlier was gone.

"We believe that this UnSub-" Rossi started, before a man raised his hand, the doughnut (A/N Think, that's how Reid would spell it and you know it) glaze still evident on his fingers.

"Um, 'UnSub'?"

"'Unknown subject', or 'UnSub', as we call it."

"Oh,"

"Anyway, we believe that this UnSub is a woman, because of her actions, but do _not_ make that assumption and exclude other suspects. If it isn't a woman, then that's our mistake. But we do believe she is a female." Rossi continued.

"We believe she's in her late twenties to early thirties; an older UnSub would be more controlled." Morgan said, stepping forward and back again as Emily went up to declare her part.

"Her trigger, or what pushed her to start killing, probably has to do with losing someone in a breakup or in death who she knew."

"He or she does not necessarily look like the victims," I elaborated quickly, "but the victims look like someone – probably a male, due to the gender of the victims - who she feels strongly connected to." Emily nodded to me, smiling.

Proud.

"She pushed away all her friends or they cut themselves off; her actions and personality would have completely changed to people she knows. She probably lives alone or with someone who depends on her, like a dying relative on life support, otherwise they would've noticed the change in personality." JJ went on. "She probably looks average to people walking down the street, but to the people who knew her before she started killing, she would look different style-wise, sound different, and act different."

"She doesn't think much of herself, and that's why she forces her victims on their knees, making them beg her for mercy." Hotch went on, "She won't be able to focus on one hard thing for an extended period of time, because the object of her affections, the person who the victims represent, takes up her mind and all of her thoughts. She won't be able to go without praising or cussing out this person, depending on her feelings."

"And lastly, she has a very specific type: tall, slender, late twenties, golden to light brown hair, long fingers and brown eyes." I finished, squeezing and unsqueezing my hands to go along with what I described.

"So, uh…" a man began, lifting his hand in the air. "Someone who looks like you?"

His eyes bore directly into me.

"Yes, actually," I whispered. I'd tried to deny this, but I knew it all along. "Excuse me," I mumbled, phone already in hand as I walked into the hallway.

I could feel everyone's eyes on my back.

'_Romeo, oh Romeo, you have reached the palace of all knowledge knowable to the infinite internet.'_

"Garcia, I need you to dig up everything you can – past and present, on a woman I used to know."

'_Ooo,' _she giggled like a schoolgirl, _'What's her name? You know I'll give all of you guys-'_

"No. Just me. This has to stay between us." I snapped, and Garcia seemed taken aback.

'_Oh-oh-okay…' _she responded uncomfortably.

"Fax me everything you can find on her. You know my fax number up here?"

'_No sweetums, but it'll take me all of a millisecond to find it. And again I ask – What's her name?'_

"Lila Archer."

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Princess: Dun duh DUH!


End file.
